Not that there is a real point to when Yao Corp wasn't having their fun, but the routine was nice. It gave him time to think, or not to think, between all the people and the daily life in Haven. It was an easy way to let off steam, though sometimes it wasn't enough with the lack of criminal activity, and there were only so many times he could try to run himself ragged on the low, boring rooftops of Haven.
Bruce's arrival as a child civilian meant he couldn't run out after dark the first night, and despite tiredness he couldn't actually manage sleep until after several restless hours of refusing to toss and turn. The next morning made it clear neither of them had a good rest, though Tim was able to hide it for the most part from years of practice. He felt terrible, but it seemed like Bruce wanted his space and he'll respect it after the harrowing first day Bruce had.
The second night he had accidentally fallen asleep sitting up against the frame of the bed, sleep debt catching up to him. The scream jolted him awake by having him bang his head against the wall, hissing to himself as he scrambled out of bed. He waved their other roommate off with an apologetic shrug, and after a minute, Bruce turned away from him too.
Tonight he's laying in his bed staring out at the darkened room, eyes roving over the sparse detail he'd already memorized awhile ago. His breathing has been slowed to the same pace of those asleep, his body relaxed with the only outlet for the tension he feels in the way his fingers twist at the sheets covering him in a carefully haphazard manner. It's a long while before anything comes of his waiting, and when he hears the creak of the bed frame above him, his eyelids slam shut with only a crack to see Bruce pad across the room and disappear outside.
He waits a beat.
Another.
And another.
Then he's silently sliding out from under his sheets too, making just enough sound to be noticed, but quiet enough to be dismissed by those not awake. He stops in the doorway where he could easily disappear back inside, watching the small figure engulfed by a grown man's jacket fingering a precious memento.]
So are you.
[He whispers back, pitching his voice to carry over the short distance between them. He doesn't move from where he is just yet, propping himself against the frame, the wood pressing grooves into his arm.]
I don't want to disturb anyone. [ with only tim present, bruce turns his head. his eyes are dark. his tone is edged in a mild chastisement when he adds: ] You ought to sleep.
[ the hypocrisy doesn't occur to him or, more likely, he simply ignores it. he and sleep have a difficult relationship. bruce returns his attention to the necklace. stubbornness bordering on masochism keeps him fiddling with the necklace even as the hair on his arms stands on end.
he has to get used to it, the necklace, the memories latched onto it like parasites. there's no safe handy to put it out of mind. nor can he just hide it anywhere. it was his mother's. is. it doesn't feel like his. ]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2014-11-30 11:26 am (UTC)Not that there is a real point to when Yao Corp wasn't having their fun, but the routine was nice. It gave him time to think, or not to think, between all the people and the daily life in Haven. It was an easy way to let off steam, though sometimes it wasn't enough with the lack of criminal activity, and there were only so many times he could try to run himself ragged on the low, boring rooftops of Haven.
Bruce's arrival as a child civilian meant he couldn't run out after dark the first night, and despite tiredness he couldn't actually manage sleep until after several restless hours of refusing to toss and turn. The next morning made it clear neither of them had a good rest, though Tim was able to hide it for the most part from years of practice. He felt terrible, but it seemed like Bruce wanted his space and he'll respect it after the harrowing first day Bruce had.
The second night he had accidentally fallen asleep sitting up against the frame of the bed, sleep debt catching up to him. The scream jolted him awake by having him bang his head against the wall, hissing to himself as he scrambled out of bed. He waved their other roommate off with an apologetic shrug, and after a minute, Bruce turned away from him too.
Tonight he's laying in his bed staring out at the darkened room, eyes roving over the sparse detail he'd already memorized awhile ago. His breathing has been slowed to the same pace of those asleep, his body relaxed with the only outlet for the tension he feels in the way his fingers twist at the sheets covering him in a carefully haphazard manner. It's a long while before anything comes of his waiting, and when he hears the creak of the bed frame above him, his eyelids slam shut with only a crack to see Bruce pad across the room and disappear outside.
He waits a beat.
Another.
And another.
Then he's silently sliding out from under his sheets too, making just enough sound to be noticed, but quiet enough to be dismissed by those not awake. He stops in the doorway where he could easily disappear back inside, watching the small figure engulfed by a grown man's jacket fingering a precious memento.]
So are you.
[He whispers back, pitching his voice to carry over the short distance between them. He doesn't move from where he is just yet, propping himself against the frame, the wood pressing grooves into his arm.]
no subject
Date: 2014-11-30 03:34 pm (UTC)[ the hypocrisy doesn't occur to him or, more likely, he simply ignores it. he and sleep have a difficult relationship. bruce returns his attention to the necklace. stubbornness bordering on masochism keeps him fiddling with the necklace even as the hair on his arms stands on end.
he has to get used to it, the necklace, the memories latched onto it like parasites. there's no safe handy to put it out of mind. nor can he just hide it anywhere. it was his mother's. is. it doesn't feel like his. ]